Once Upon A Time In The Land Of Opportunity
by the7joker7
Summary: Ken's life has been drastically altered, smashed to oblivion, with nothing left but his wits. Fortunately, Ken's wits are not the worst thing to be left with. Can he carve out a new life from the ruins of his old one in the 'Land of Opportunity?
1. Welcome To America

Digimon Fanfic. I don't own Digimon.

I can't think of anything to say here...so on with it.

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Chapter One: Welcome to America

"Welcome back. For those of you just joining us, we have some jarring news just now breaking. Just eighteen hours after the beginning of a massive coup in Japan, multiple massive nuclear explosions have rocked the entire island. Early indications are that all of Japan was within the blast radiuses. It is believed that this rebel group set off the explosions, though the intentions and details are not yet known. The first of these nuclear explosions took place just thirty eight minutes ago, the final of which thirteen. Here to discuss the fallout from this disaster of immense proportions is Miss Serena Roberts, American ambassador to Japan and one of the leading figures in the attempted relief efforts to Japan."

The small, suited man with a shiny, hard-looking helmet of hair that was combed sideways in tiny black rows of strands turned to his left. The camera angle shifted so as both he and the woman in question could be seen at once. She appeared to be a bit older than the middle aged newscaster, wrinkles that indicated age could be seen faintly on her face. She wore slightly masculine clothing, a black jacket over a white shirt. She nodded to the newscaster to indicate she understood that was her cue.

"Hello Miss Roberts." He began.

"Hello Mister Bounds, thank you for having me on." She began.

"Now, this group of rebels, let's start there. The, uh, Bosozoku I believe they're called?" Bounds asked.

"Yes, the Bosozoku. Typically it's a fairly run-of-the-mill biker gang that participates in small scale crimes. They hold up small stores, mug people, harass people, just like the small gangs here in America. Clearly, over the last several years, this gang became much more under the nose of the Japanese government, because as recently as 24 hours ago, the CIRO and TMPDPSB considered them to be well below their attention."

"And how can one fairly insignificant gang get so powerful without anyone noticing?" Bounds further inquired.

"Well, not on their own. It's fairly obvious that a third party is involved in some way. The Bosozuko have never shown any signs of being capable of something on this scale, so the likely conclusion is that an outside hand was guiding them. Someone very powerful, with access to many things, and wanted the Bosozuko for disposable manpower." She continued.

"No idea who this party could be?"

Roberts shook her head. "No. Considering the events of the last hour, someone who holds a very strong grudge against Japan, or someone who stands to gain a lot from the destruction of Japan."

"And on that note, why did they destroy Japan? I mean, after going through all the trouble to take it over, why would you nuke the whole thing? I mean, surely holding a dictatorship over such a major player in the world's economy would be worth so much to...anyone?" He pushed.

"Well...that I couldn't say. It doesn't make much sense to nuke the entire country. And it could not have been accidental owing to the extreme precision of the explosions. Although, intelligence collected seems to indicate that among the millions killed were virtually all of the Bosozuko gang members." She pointed out.

"So...either a suicide mission or deception on the part of this third party?" Bounds clarified.

"Precisely. And we'll probably never know which one." She added. "Of course, we'll do all we can to find this third party, but I'm afraid whatever evidence there may have been is among the casualties of this event. But right now, our concern is not of uncovering the perpetrators of this-"

"Yes, that was my next question actually. Miss Roberts, can you give us an idea of the deathtoll here?" He asked, leaning back slightly in his chair.

"Well, Japan very recently conducted a census that reported 130 million people. We know around two million escaped either of their own devices or thanks to the efforts of the Japanese government. The wealthy, powerful, important, they were able to make their own way out before it was too late."

"And that brings us to the operation that you were at the head of, right?" Bounds interrupted. "How did that go?"

She gave a strained smile at the newscaster. "Well, it quickly became apparent to us that Japan's defenses weren't going to hold. We suspect foul play from within maybe have interfered with their defense efforts and led to a quick and easy takeover. So, we sent over as many ships and planes as we could. You see, the Bosozuko were so busy trying to make their attack go as quickly as possible, they really didn't have time to try and keep us from evacuating Japanese citizens. So we did, as many and as quickly as we could. Early indications are we managed to get 7.2 million people safely out of the country before the destruction."

"I see." Bounds said back. "Is there any hope of survivors at ground zero?"

"I can't see how. The destruction was precise and devastating. If so much as a single person in Japan survived it'd be a miracle."

"I know Japan meant a lot to you, and your work to keep up relations between our two nations is well-known to many. Again, I'd like to thank you for coming onto our show tonight, less than an hour after the devastation, and being so willing to discuss the details. We are all very sorry for your loss, and for everyone out there who lost something in this." Bounds said slowly, halting for a brief second before pressing on. "What are the plans for those who were evacuated?"

"They're coming here. They're coming to America. By removing them from their homeland, we need to accept responsibility for their placement in a safe location, and America is the only option we can trust to be safe." She explained.

The newscaster raised one eyebrow slightly. "And how will we be doing that?"

"It's not going to be easy, or pretty. But it's doable. We've begun to set up camps. Closed off, guarded areas where these immigrants can live for a period of time. Thanks to government relief funds and donations from various sources, we believe we'll be able to gather enough resources to keep these people alive and healthy for as long as needed."

"How are they going to feel about that? We're talking about introducing more than seven million people to America overnight, and overpopulation is already an issue in this country. How much room do we have for these camps? I know anything is better than being the victim of a nuclear holocaust, but we'd be talking about packing people in these camps like sardines. And even if you put that issue aside, space is already an issue in America. These seven million people, even after they're placed into the general public, are going to have a hell of a time finding adequate living quarters." He questioned.

"One thing to understand about Japan is their own overpopulation issues. We may think we have problems in America, but...well, Japan has...had...a population equivalent to 42% of what we have in America. But in terms of square mileage of land, Japan has only 4% of America's size. Imagine cramming four tenths of our entire population into Montana. Or cramming the entirety of America's population into Texas and Oklahoma." She explained.

"That's quite something." Bounds said quickly.

"Yes, so the Japanese...were very used to cramped conditions. That's why their buildings are built so tall, it's their only hope of actually containing all those people. It's really just a part of the differences in culture. In my visits to Japan I've seen not only single people, but couples live in a single room of a hundred square feet or less. In our country, that indicates poverty or extreme frugality. Not in Japan, it's fairly normal. Over there, space is at such a premium, their housing prices are usually ten to twelve times as costly as housing prices here. Houses consisting of just a thousand square feet go for the equivalent of 1.1 million dollars on a regular basis in Tokyo. I've seen successful businessmen and people who I know for a fact make good money and still reside in average apartments by our standards. Actual houses are extremely rare, owned only by the rich, and most dare not even dream of ever having one. The American Dream is the big house, two car garage, white picket fence, a wife, two kids, and a dog, but the Japanese equivalent is typically an apartment with four rooms." She took a small breath. "It's about possessions. The Japanese..were very technology oriented and often made the most of their small living quarters. Maybe the apartment is small, but they have a nice television, high-end computer, the kids have video game systems, there's no shortage of food or medical attention if required or anything like that."

"So it's not about quantity, but quality, to the Japanese, is what you're saying?" Bounds chimed in again, oblivious to the repeating strained look on Roberts's face.

"Precisely. Now, the camps won't be fun. It will be crowded. They may not enjoy it, but nobody is more prepared to survive it than the Japanese. And it's our intention to get them out of the camps as soon as possible. And if all we can spare is a two room apartment, they'll have no problem whatsoever. Plus, population issue or not, America offers opportunities Japan do-did not. It gives these immigrants a chance to strive for more than they did in Japan, maybe. An overwhelming majority of the evacuees were middle class citizens, who have lived their lives with just enough room to get by." She concluded.

"Fair enough, but what about the issue from our side? The population of the United States grows at a rate of around three million people a year. We're talking about adding twenty-eight months worth of people in a single night, ultimately." Bounds questioned.

"Our plan is to stagger the release. You see, a vast majority of these evacuees are not ready to truly enter the United States. The culture clash would certainly cripple, if not completely kill, any chance they have of integrating themselves into America. So our plan includes giving these evacuees some training in the ways of our culture, providing them with some money, perhaps a more comfortable and permanent residence, and hopefully even a job. Their time in our camps will not be wasted, far from it." Roberts explained.

"Now, in my mind, I'm trying to place myself in the position of these 7.2 million individuals. If the roles were reversed. Having your homeland incinerated, losing everything, trying to take up residence in a foreign country. Even with all these programs you're setting up to help, I just don't think I could make that sort of a change. Wouldn't these people be more comfortable in another oriential country? China, maybe? Less of a culture clash?" Bounds brought up.

"We certainly wouldn't stop them from moving elsewhere. However, since we're the ones who rescued them, we feel it is our responsibility to offer them a home in our country first. And honestly, we very seriously doubt any other country would offer the advantages we're planning on having. If they wish to go to China, they're free to do so, but they'd never have a chance with no money, no housing, no job, and no government assistance." Serena ran her right hand back through her hair quickly. "Remember Bounds, they may say naughty things about us in some circles, but many foreign countries still view America as the land of opportunity."

"Very true. Not much of a chance at all. Of course, there are those who would have you believe there's not much of a chance here. Already, naysayers claim this is a waste of time, resources, and money. Most well-heard of these voices is Senator Kevin Williams of Pennsylvania, who made a statement just an hour ago after being informed of your worst case scenario plans."

At that, he stopped talking, and a clear audio recording of a man speaking quickly, yet still with an air of organization, was played in the news studio.

"Miss Roberts's plan is admirable, certainly, but also a fantasy that will break our already stretched budget and accelerate coming overpopulation problems. What's more, I question the long term benefits of this plan. I understand, there are those who say that the money is well worth the lives we can save, and the overpopulation issue is inevitable either way. It is my understanding that, should the worst happen, the rescue boats will have managed to save over seven million people, or about 0.1% of the world's population, who would otherwise be certainly dead. I don't mean to say averting a segment of a genocide that is approximitely equivalent to the holocaust isn't worth whatever we have to spend. But we must ask ourselves, what life are we condemning these people to? Most of them will die or be killed due to their unfortunate situation and culture clash, many others will turn to crime and the underworld or remain in perpetual poverty, either of which will only increase the problems we have in the nation. We are handcuffing these people to a future of minimum-wage jobs, hate crimes, prejudice, and no hope for anything better. A select few may manage to dig themselves out of the ghettos, make something of themselves, and contribute to society, I'll grant you that. But I do mean, a very, very select few. If all we can provide is a future of flipping burgers and washing dishes, or worse, then we shouldn't even bother trying in my opinion. In fact, of the seven million plus evacuees that are being herded to America, I doubt a single one of them ever owns a house, or pulls in six figures over a year period."

Bounds turned to face the camera, which was now focused on him.

"That was Senator Kevin Williams of Pennsylvania, claiming that we can not offer these Japanese evacuees enough for the rescue to be worthwhile, that we doom a vast majority of them to a hopeless life of barely scraping by, and that not a one of them will enjoy so much as moderate success. Coming up, after the break, we'll have further debate and discussion, along with any breaking news, on this tragedy."

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"Do you think someone looted it? Would someone do that? How long have we been gone?" A voice a little down the ship's railing said in rapid Japanese, rather too loudly given the large crowd that was amassed on the deck. "I gotta get back to my shop, I didn't get a chance to grab anything or even lock the place! Those goddamn gang bangers, I'll bet they'd loot it if given the chance."

"Keep your voice down! Yelling about it doesn't make it less likely, we don't need the whole boat to know about your concerns!" A woman's voice came from about the same area, ironically about as loud.

"What time is it? How long have we been on this boat? I wish we'd get to the docks, I gotta get back to my shop!" Came the first voice again, nonplussed by the second.

Ken looked down the railing of the boat, on which he was holding as he looked out at the land the boat was sailing towards. Being on this ship was not agreeing with him. Beyond the obvious seasickness (an unfortunate number of people on the boat had fallen prey to that, to the point of vomiting and retching becoming the default setting for those on board), the massive red and white metal vehicle just made him feel uneasy. It was so big. Some might have said it felt safer, but Ken tried to avoid all things of great scale. When he was near something that was exceedingly big, it made him feel exceedingly small, which always seemed to manage to scare him. In particular, high ceilings bothered Ken, but this massive boat more than did the trick. Plus, he had the incalcuable misfortune of having rewatched 'Titanic' just three days ago, rendering him subconsciously paranoid as well.

The crowd of people was admittedly thick, but it was not yet cramped. He could see, through the thicket of passengers, the conversing couple who were the sources of the loud voices.

Grimacing slightly, he walked down the railing towards them, accidentally glancing down at the ocean as he did so. He had been trying, quite hard, not to think too hard about the ocean they were floating on, nor look at it. After all, when it came to large scale, the ocean was rivaled only by perhaps outer space. And being this far away from civilization, in the middle of nowhere, was enough to keep him from any sleep the previous night. Even now, with land in sight, he was far from fond of it. And even though the sea was calm sans the ripple effect of the large boat, looking as pleasant and peaceful as an ocean could in it's blue, majestic glory, he longed for the comfort of land.

"I wonder if I can bribe anyone here to be the first to get off the boat? I really need to get back." The man continued to mutter all-too-loudly to no one in particular. "I mean-"

"I wouldn't worry too much about that." Ken said, coming to a stop a few feet away from the pair. Perhaps mudane conversation would keep his mind off the boat until they reached the docks. "Seeing as how we're nearly nine thousand miles away from your shop."

A blank look met this seemingly inane statement. The man was short and squat, a large bald spot on the top of his head surrounded by a rim of black hair. Finally, the man had a counter. "That's ridiculous! Why would we be nine thousand miles from Japan?! It's right over there, I can see land, look!" He pointed in the direction of the shore, where tiny buildings could be made out in the distance, backdropped by a perfect blue sky. "Unless you're implying I have the power to see things nine thousand miles away."

"I'm sure you have fine eyesight sir. I merely wanted to spare you a severe disappointment once we got to shore. You see, my wristwatch-" he indicated a watch on his wrist with a golden band and frame on a black face, "has a built in compass, which indicated we were sailing east when we first left Japan. As of this moment, we are still sailing east, with a slight northern turn. Since this boat is not capable of making a voyage around the globe in twelve hours, any land that this ship is sailing towards while heading east could not possibly be Japan. Furthermore, my watch also indicates the time is 6:30 AM, but the position of the sun from our perspective could not disagree much more." Ken explained, enjoying the chance to logically argue his point with such fine detail, almost enough to make him forget his position.

Slowly, the man looked at his own watch, a silver band with a white face, then at the sun. He took a few moments, perhaps trying to determine the rough time according to the sun's position, before looking back to Ken. "I see." He said simply. "Yet, this ship seems to be quite clearly heading towards that land. Where are they taking us?"

"A short time ago, we passed through the Panama Canal, meaning we are now on the eastern side of the Americas. Based on the north-east-east direction we sail in now, I'm assuming we're seeing some part of Northern America, and the sun's indicating of 3:00 PM agrees with that." Ken said, looking up at the sun as he said the last part.

"You're pretty smart." The woman finally said. "Like...like a windows."

Ken glanced at the woman, a blank look on his face. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Y'know...you're like a windows. Really quick, smart, logical-"

"Oh, you mean a computer." Ken reasoned. "Yes, that's what I get for working around them all my life." The top of her head actually rose perhaps an inch above the man's, although she was leaner in build by a considerable margin. Mousy brown hair fell around her face, which was slightly more wrinkled and worn than one might anticipate, given how young her voice sounded. "In any case, given the time we've been sailing...I'd say we're a few minutes away from docking in Florida."

"What's a Florida?" The man asked. "I thought you said this was America."

"It is. America is divided up into states. Florida's one of them." Ken explained. "A rather nice one, so they say. Have you seen a map of America lately, mister...er-"

"Oh. Oh yes. I'm Akira. Akira Nagano. And this is Masuyo." He pointed at the woman. "And yes, I've seen maps of America."

Ken propped his forearms up on the railing, looking upward slightly so as not to look at the ocean. "Florida is on the south east corner. Perhaps you recall a protruding stick of land? That makes up a majority of the state."

"What? You mean like the dick? America's dick? We're going to America's dick?" Akira replied, looking out again at the land mass coming closer and closer. "Sounds great."

"Why?" Masuyo piped up. "Why are we being brought here? I thought they were just getting us out of Japan for a few hours so there would be less civilians at risk while they beat back the coup. It's been twelve hours, what could be taking so long?"

Ken cleared his throat, then stood up, hands on his hips. "I don't know. Maybe...they won." He said slowly.

"What do you mean? The Bosozoku, win? That's absurd. Sure, maybe they could cause a decent disturbance for awhile, but once the military decides to send in the big dogs, they wouldn't have a chance!" Akira exclaimed.

"I can't think of any other reason why they'd be taking us to Florida. If we needed to dock just to fill up on supplies and gas, I'd assume we'd just do so in California. Maybe the battle's taking longer than they thought." Ken reasoned. "And they want to store us here until it's safe to go back. I imagine the western seaboard is clogged up with boats already so they decided to take us to the eastern side."

"You know, I never caught your name." Akira finally said.

"Ken." Ken replied simply. "Don't ask for my last name, I've learned not giving it out makes people take me more seriously."

"Fair enough." Akira looked back towards the large structure that peered out from the ship's deck, towering over all of them and housing most of the boat's contents. "When do you think we'll get back?"

"Oh. I can't imagine more than a few days. Like you said, it's just the Bosozoku." Ken said.

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Even after the boat docked, it was nearly an hour before Ken was herded off, as what seemed to be an infinite number of people walked off on a very narrow bridge down to the wooden walkway. Now, the boat was truly crowded, as everyone on board was up top now, attempting to squeeze themselves closer to the exit, creating a mash of bodies that had no discernable order. People just filed off when they were close enough to do so.

However, finally, Ken was down on the dock and could appreciate more what the boat had done for him. After all, were it not for it whisking him away, he could be dead. He had been luckily far removed from the areas that were initially ravaged, but the news had explained just how bloody and violent it had gotten. Indeed, who knows what may have happened had he not managed to get to this boat?

But the masses were far from free. Men in bright blue uniforms were positioned all along the docks, ushering the masses down it. Ken thought there was an unusual concentration of these men, given there was only one possible path to walk. Nevertheless, he stayed with the pack as the flood of flesh rolled down the wet wooden path.

Once off the dock, Ken squeezed his way over to one of the uniformed guards, moving out of the way of the marching crowd by shuffling next to the man.

"Excuse me, do we still need to go through customs? Because I don't need government issued sleeping quarters, I'd like to use this opportunity to look around-"

"Sir, please step back into line and proceed in the indicated direction." The guard interrupted wearily, pointing in the direction of the moving crowd.

"Oh, so there _are _customs? At what point will I be allowed to break off? I'd like to stay in my own hotel. I just need to get somewhere where I can get my money-"

"Sir, we're not allowed to explain anything. Please just move with the crowd, you'll understand soon." The guard pointed again in the direction the masses were headed in. Ken stood there in silence for half a beat, then allowed himself to be swept back into the crowd. He wasn't terribly surprised that the guard wasn't overly cheerful or helpful, and would not have been surprised to be rudely rebuked, but the response he got was puzzling. The man sounded...sad. In fact, he almost sounded scared.

Well, if what he said was true, he'd understand 'soon'.

After a fairly short trek down a concrete path, they were on the streets of an unnamed city in what he assumed to be Florida. But oddly, there was no traffic, not of automobiles rumbling down the cracked, painted asphalt of the streets, nor of people strolling down the lighter colored concrete sidewalks. Ken peered to the left, down the street, and saw various roadblocks set up a few dozen yards away. As they proceeded right, various shops and places of business could be glanced at as they moved past, although they were all locked and almost all of them were entirely vacated.

It was just two blocks later that the pack was led off the road. A chainlink fence had been erected in a large grass field just beyond the chain of buildings, enclosing off a fairly large area. Within the fence were three massive wooden structures. Although his view of a good portion of the area was blocked, he could see a few of the same uniformed guards meandering about within.

A large gate in the fence was swung open, and the hordes were directed inside. Ken paused for a second, pondering how much nicer a quality hotel would be than what appeared to be a minimum securty prison, but a slight pressure on his back reminded him of how many people were behind him and how easy it could be to be trampled underfoot in a large crowd like this. So, with great reluctance, he stuck with the throng into the enclosed area.

He noticed that some of the uniformed guards, after their job ushering was over, began to spread themselves out just outside the fence, again making him think of a low-end jail. Once inside, the cluster of people began to spread themselves out within the confined space, now free to at least move in any desired direction if only for a short distance. Ken himself had quickly ducked to the right as soon as he was within the walls and watched the scores of Japanese civilians filter in.

Eventually, the gate was closed, but there were still countless people outside. After a moment of confusion as they stood there, wondering if they had perhaps been set free by some strange chance, the remaining uniformed men motioned for them to continue down the road.

Ken peeled his eyes away from the now trite scene and looked around. He had to admit, between the cloudless blue sky, reasonable temperature, and lush, green grass, it was sort of hard to be in too bad of a mood. Ken had visited California once before, during a supposed business interview that was just an excuse for those Nintendo executives to do some travelling while getting a feel for Ken's computer savvy beyond what a transcript printout could tell you. He thought it was rather nice there, and although he had infinitely more fun in California than he was having now in Florida, it seemed to be even nicer here. He hoped that he might have the chance to enjoy it.

A loud squeal echoed out over the holding area, causing everyone to wince and glance up for the source. Ken noticed, behind one of the large wooden structures, a tall pole with a series of large megaphone-shaped speakers perched on the top, that seemed to be the source. He noticed several people begin to move towards the pole, as if this could accomplish anything, but Ken stayed put and awaited what we hoped was a revealing announcement.

After a brief moment of silence, it came, in broken but understandable Japanese.

"Hello, citizens of Japan. I would like to welcome all of you to...this temporary holding area we have set up over the last 24 hours or so. We apologize for the cramped conditions and any inconvienence. Furthermore, we'd also like to apologize for the manner in which the evacuation was carried out. We understand that all of you were rushed out with no warning or time to prepare, meaning you were forced to leave basically everything you own behind. I know many of you were not fully aware of everything going on with regards to the coup, but we would like to inform you that it was fully necessary."

Ken glanced around at the people around him, who all seemed to have furrowed brows and many were staring off into space. Ken spoke English as well as any American-born, and through experience had learned of common errors people made in speaking Japanese when it was their second or third language, but it was likely most other people here could only get a general idea of what this man was saying.

"A direct order was made to all the uniformed ladies and gentlemen you saw who escorted you here, to not discuss anything with any of you beyond what was needed to get you here. So please, do not direct your anger at them. Now, we've prepared pamphlets that will be distributed to anyone who wants them, free of charge, that will explain every detail of this unfortunate situation. But before this, the American government thinks a human voice should explain this to you. With great reluctance, I will be the bearer of most unfortunate news."

Ken thought of Akira the shopowner, wherever he was now. He couldn't help but give a small smile, the bad news likely coming in the form of destroyed property and looted shops.

"The Bosozuko, as many of you know, began a coup over 24 hours ago, which we had received intelligence of shortly before. It quickly became clear the Bosozuko had amassed the manpower and firepower to actually pose a significant threat, and given their clear disregard for the lives of innocent civilians, America decided to assist with the relief effort."

The voice gave a pause, which was returned by an equal silence from the crowd, before continuing, in a voice that got more weary as it went on.

"Part of the intelligence collected on the coup was the knowledge of the Bosozuko being in possession of nuclear weapons, and the belief that their ultimate goal was the total destruction of Japan. Since they had shown remarkable efficiency in moving towards this goal, our relief effort included a mass evacuation, which is where we are now."

The voice paused again, even longer, as the smile slowly fell off Ken's face. Nuclear weapons...a sympathetic guard...mass migration to America...the strain that seemed to multiply with every sentence on the voice of the speaker...it fit far too well.

"Japan has fallen victim to an organized and precisely measured nuclear strike. The entire country has been reduced to a nuclear wasteland. I'm afraid there is practically no hope of survival for anyone still on the island. Nor is there any hope of repopulating the area for many years."

Ken swallowed hard as he heard murmurings break out around him. He heard snippets of conversation, clearly most people believed the man's broken Japanese had led him to say something he did not mean to. Ken, however, had heard enough. No man could have such a poor understanding of the Japanese language that they could make that bad of a screwup, while still being asked by the government to deliver an extremely important message to thousands of people.

"Again, I am very sorry for having to deliver this news to you. Again, we feel you should know before you hear it through gossip and rumor, or read about it. We feel you all deserve the right to know. I hold only the deepest sympathy for those who lost everything in this disaster. You have been brought here, to Miami, Florida, because we Americans feel our relief mission is far from over."

Ken was listening, but not processing anything. He was listening only to put the information in storage for later, to be understood later. For now, all he could dare to process was the revelation that Japan was gone. Everything. Leveled. Flattened to nothingness. Everything he owned, everything he had ever enjoyed, and quite likely, almost everyone he knew. And they wouldn't come back.

"It is our plan to help you, citizens of the nation once known as Japan, start up again. The details of this plan will be given in the pamphlet. We hope that, by providing you with culture training, money, a place to stay, and job opportunities, we can help ease the pain of losing your homeland. My deepest condolences."

The audio cut off. The colored drained from Ken's face as he fell to his knees. He was dimly aware of people around him, running around, talking to each other, trying to clarify the message of the man. Ken went down on all fours, staring at the ground, crushing realization after realization washing over him as slowly people began to scream and run around madly around him. For them, it had taken a few blissful minutes to understand the announcement. They were a few minutes behind him. A few minutes that he was truly jealous of.

Ken kept himself slightly more composed than most of the others. Although, in fairness, he had nothing left to throw up after the boat ride, or he may have joined in on that reaction. After a few minutes of shock, Ken wondered what angered reaction might best suit the situation. Should he begin punching the ground? Try to pick a fight with one of the guards? Just start screaming like a madman? Nothing seemed appropriate. He had once come back to his car after a mediocre seafood dinner to find a massive scratch on his '10 Corvette, and flipped out on that scale. These people had leveled his entire homeland. He couldn't muster up anything.

So slowly, he just stood back up, took several settling breaths, and walked aimlessly towards one of the wooden structures. He needed to get away. Needed to get away from all these people, who were putting forth pathetic efforts at a proper reaction to this holocaust. Efforts not even worth doing. He actually felt somewhat insulted that his fellow countrymen would do something so shallow and trite as screaming or crying in response to this. He just wanted to be alone.

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Ken sat in his cot, one of thousands set up in the wooden buildings, not noticably different from any other. Ken had sat on that cot, alone with his thoughts, for much of the day before people began to join him. Indeed, he had slightly less animosity toward his countrymen now. The ruckus they had kicked up outside in blind rage, which had driven the uniformed-guards to their breaking point just to keep the jail secure, was an acceptable start to the requisite anger at this travesty. He hadn't seen it, but had heard enough screaming, ordering, and even shooting to clue him into that much. Finally, people had joined him in the sleeping building, taking a cot for themselves and falling to sleep, exhausted from the events of the day.

Ken, however, found no sleep as he continued to mull. He was past the shock of realization and generic anger, and his thoughts turned to 'what now'? Indeed, what now? He had removed his gold watch from his wrist, and was now turning it over in his hands and peering at it. It occured to him that, since the small amount of emergency Yen he kept in in a hidden compartment of his right shoe was now worth less than the paper it was printed on, this watch was probably the only thing of value left to him.

Should he sell it? Would it be enough to carve out any kind of a decent living? Would it buy me enough time to get a new life started? How much help will the Americans really offer? Will I get a chance to showcase my abilities in this country? Does my degree count for anything here? Is a 21-year old computer prodigy with a masters degree in computer science worth anything in America?

Paths that represented the directions he could take his life from here weaved in and out of his mind, none of the endings being quite clear. But it's not as if there was any hope of sleep, not with his brain insisting on working so hard.

And then...he thought of whoever it was behind those nuclear bombs. They wanted Japan dead. They had wanted every single Japanese citizen dead. Their goal was the ultimate destruction of every last vestige of Japanese culture. The survival of those who had evacuated, it was in defiance of their goal. Proof that they had not completely succeeded.

He thought of revenge, taking his pound of flesh for these injustices against humanity, getting the chance to at least make the people behind this suffer.

Slowly, he took the watch in his left hand and opened it up so he could slide his right hand into it. Letting it close around his right wrist, he looked at it closely again.

"The best revenge is to live well." Ken said quietly, to himself. No one else even noticed, they all seemed to be asleep.

"Ken Ichijouji." He said, again to himself. "The computer whiz from Tamachi, guaranteed success story, assured of great things throughout his life." And then, he laid back, feeling his brain slowly come to peace with the multitude of options and condense down to one. "Welcome to America."


	2. If We Ever Get Out Of Here

Chapter 2: If we ever get out of here

"Well." Ken said slowly, looking around the small circular table at the assortment of fellow forced japanese immigrants. He started to his immediate left. "You got a hardon when you got a pair on the flop since you've been getting garbage ever since you sat down ten minutes ago, probably not even the best possible pair, kept calling because you were just so excited about it, and now you're so far into the pot you don't want to just fold but know your hand won't hold up so you just kept sticking around uselessly." He skipped over the next two people, who had long since folded out, and pointed at a person across the table from him. "You're holding a club, so you're just about to piss yourself over the fact that you got a flush on the river, nevermind the fact that there are four clubs in the community cards and anyone else holding just one club would have a flush. I'm guessing your club is a five, since you didn't bet after the flop, but did after the turn when the five of hearts popped up. So anyone with a six of clubs or higher beats you, but you're not gonna let simple mathematics get in the way of your weak flush." And then, he skipped over one more person before setting to someone two people to his right, pointing at them. "And...you don't have a club, do you? You'd like us to think you have a full house, eights over fives. But I didn't see your painfully obvious tell when the five came up on the turn, only after the eight of clubs showed up on the river. So I'm going to say you're holding an eight, meaning you have three of a kind, but no full house."

He gave a small smile, turning back to the first man he spoke to. "So, you're just the sucker," he glanced at the 2nd man, across the table from him, "your game is five-card stud and you don't fully grasp the difference between the two games," and then he turned to the last man, to his right. "And you're at least smart enough to know your three of a kind won't hold up, but just couldn't say no and tried to bluff people into thinking you had more." He showed his two cards, an ace of clubs and seven of diamonds. "In conclusion, I have the strongest possible flush, the sap to my right has one eight so nobody can have the only possible four of a kind, a straight flush isn't possible with the community cards, and you can just forget about the royal flush." He pushed his pile of yen into the middle of the table, joining assorted other yen notes that others had placed there. "So I will answer your all-in bet with an all-in bet of my own, I obviously win the pot, so all this is mine-" he pulled the entirety of the pile of money towards him "-and we've just tragically lost two of our players."

"Very funny, college boy." Said the man 2nd to his right, quickly flipping his cards back into the pile around the deck, then gathering them up and making to shuffle. "Y'know, a more suspicious person might take you for a cheater."

"And why would I cheat?" Ken asked. "When you're all such amateurish players? What a waste of time that would be! Besides, it's just for fun. I might end up using these notes for toilet paper, because it's not even worth that anymore."

"And yet, for the last three days, you've been coming to this table, humiliating player after player, taking our money like you've got nothing better to do." The man across the table pointed out, hunching hmself over the table as he peered hard at Ken. "You know something. You got something planned, don't you? If these yen notes are so worthless, why are you so keen on playing cards for them?"

"How observant of you. If only you could apply those skills to cards!" Ken retorted, drawing a grimace from the man. "Let it suffice to say that there is very very little to do in this camp, and this is the least objectionable activity."

Ken glanced around. "Now, since you two have no more money to contribute to this game, why don't you make yourselves useful and find some more willing players who can actually bet?" He then turned to the man on his immediate left, who had been stonily silent through all of this. "You, I notice, still have yen, so I urge you to stick around so that I might have the chance to take it. After all, we've already established you as the sucker, and judging by the expression on your face at the moment, you're also now my bitch, so-"

"AHHH!" A shriek echoed across the room, causing Ken to instinctively glance behind him at the estimated source of the sound. The large meal hall was extremely crowded, loaded to near-capacity with hungry immigrants who both filled every table and stood and walked in the spaces between, so that it was impossible to see more than a few yards in any direction. Since the cry sounded like a female variant, Ken had a fair idea what the situation might be. After all, you can only expect such a thing to be common in a large camp, 67% of the population being male.

Ken was about to turn his attention back to manipulating the card table, when the momentary silence of the surrounding people allowed him to make out voices behind him.

"You-you don't wanna touch me! Trust me, stay away! You touch me, you'll regret it!" A female voice rang a short distance away. Ken couldn't help but listen, curiousity getting the best of him.

"You don't say, girlie? Please enlighten me." A male voice replied.

"I...I know people! Powerful people! If they hear about this, they'll make your life a living hel-"

"Oh, PLEASE! My homeland has been obliterated, everything I ever owned and just about everyone I ever knew went down with it. What can your 'people' possibly do to make things worse?" The male voice boomed, malice creeping into his voice.

"Uh...you ever hear of Ken Ichijouji? Yeah, I know him! Big time computer whiz, he's been on the news and in the papers! He's gonna be bigtime one day, real soon! We go way back, me and him! Trust me, mess with me, you mess with him!" The female replied loudly.

Ken was on the verge of turning back to the card game, but naturally his interest skyrocketed at the mention of his name. It was true, Ken had made some news stories and occasionally appeared in the paper, as his life story was of interest to some people. But he was far from a celebrity, and far from the first person someone would pretend to know in a pinch.

He stood up, mumbling "I'll sit this hand out" as he shoved his collection of yen notes into his right pants' pocket and stood up, still listening intently.

"Well, good for you. I ain't ever heard of this Ken fellow, but I've got some bad news, girlie. He's probably dead. Dead, just like everyone else you ever knew and cared about. And if he is alive, he ain't nothing. All of us, we ain't nothing. Not anymore."

Ken gave a curt nod to the table and turned around, making his way through the sea of bodies. He ducked between two passing large men, then had to push his way through another.

"Whatever wonderful life this 'Ken' might have had, it's all gone now. Just like your life. And mine. And everyone in this camp. Everyone who survived. You won't enjoy this, girlie, but try to keep that in mind. None of us has anything to look forward to, so you may as well get used to this."

Ken heard more screams, as he guessed what was happening now, as he shoved his way past more people. Finally, he squeezed between a pack of women, and was standing right next to the table with the scene he had been hearing.

A man in a black tanktop and khaki cargo pants was leaning over the table, his hands positioned on either side of the girl who was below him. He was a pretty big guy, both tall and wide, probably twice as heavy as the girl. He barely took note of this, however, as his focus was on the unfortunate female who was seconds away from becoming an unfortunate victim.

There could be no mistaking it; her short brown hair that still fell around his face like Ken's did. Her face, still pleasant looking through the look of horror. Her slim frame, which combined with her short stature to contrast with the man who was threatening her.

She was wearing a long sleeved light red jacket fleece, zipped up to her neck, with blue jeans that clung to her legs very tightly and ended several inches above her ankles, and red flip-flops. Her hands were on either side of her hips, trying to keep upper half propped up so she might have a chance to defend herself, and was winding up to try a well-aimed kick. That kick never materialized though, for she glanced to her slight right, just behind the man, and saw the best thing she could have possibly hoped for.

"Ken!' She squealed, her eyes going wide and any thought of struggling momentarily leaving her. Even the man couldn't help but glance behind him, so realistic was her shock.

"Kari?" Ken replied, although there was no doubt in his mind it was her. He had long since calculated the odds of meeting someone he knew personally, choosing not to delude himself into even hoping for it after estimating four hundredths of a percent. And he didn't even want to get into the odds of meeting Kari specifically, the good ole one out of one hundred and thirty million.

The man looked Ken up and down briefly, but was quite unimpressed and turned back to Kari. Ken stepped forward and made a quarter right turn, slamming his left elbow into the neck of the man. He collapsed on top of Kari, and Ken quickly rolled him off, crashing him down onto one of the wooden chairs and to the floor.

"HEY!" A male voice barked from some distance away across the room, but Ken didn't enjoy the prospect of allowing the large man to get up and compose himself. He swung around the table, stepping over the fallen body, smartly kicking him in the head. He did this twice more for good measure, then looked up, arms up near his face at the ready.

Sure enough, the man had friends, who had finally started to move in on Ken. The first, a short, stocky man with short blonde hair, jumped ahead and threw his right fist at Ken's left shoulder. Ken rotated his torso left, dodging the punch, then taking advantage of the opening to slam his right fist into the man's gut, causing him to keel over. Ken then stuck his right foot out under the man, sweeping it back towards the left, catching the man's left foot and sending him to the ground. As the attacker slammed hard to the ground, Ken crooked his left elbow so it was pointing at a forty-five degree angle from where he was facing. He threw himself to the floor, elbow aimed for the head of the fallen thug.

He connected, throwing all of his 180 pounds onto the skull of the man. Confident this was enough to knock him out or incapacitate him momentarily, he kicked his leg out, finding the third man's shin. He quickly jumped up, landing his feet flat on the floor and catching his balance, as the third man fell to the floor from the force of Ken's kick. Ken grabbed the table to his right to assure he'd stay upright, his hand finding a slim object. He threw a quick glance to the table where his right hand rested and found a small steak knife.

The third man, who had fallen on his stomach, was starting to get back up. The one was a bit on the thin side, with long black hair. Ken grabbed the knife and stepped forward over the man's body, kneeling down and stabbing him in the back of his right thigh, drawing a howl of pain.

Ken stood back up and sidestepped a few feet to his left, spinning around 360 degrees, looking for any further attackers. Finding nobody stepping forward toward him or Kari, he lobbed the knife back to his right, watching it land right below Kari's feet.

"Sweep the leg, Kari." He said quickly as he fell to his knees and put his hands on the back of his head. Seconds later, a segment of the fight's audience right in front of Ken parted to reveal one of the guards, beringer out and pointed at Ken.

"Get him outside!" The guard bellowed, pointing with his gun at Ken. Two more guards, similarly uniformed in blue and black clothing with black helmets and bulges all across their chest which revealed bulletproof vests, stepped from behind the first and moved forward. They grabbed Ken by the arms, lifted him to his feet, and began to walk back towards the first guard, as he walked inbetween them.

The third man looked up at Kari, who was right where they had left her. Legs dangling over the edge of the table, arms propping her torso up behind her, just now taking her eyes of Ken being hauled away. Her eyes fell to the recently stabbed man.

"You're in for it now." He said in a low voice. "You were getting off easy before, believe you me. We might have left you alone after we were done. Now, you and your friend over there. Forget about getting out of here."

Kari sat there, stony still, for another half second, hearing the remaining guard instructing people to return to their normal business and stop crowding around the three injured men. And then, in a flash, she pushed herself off the table, stooped down to grab the knife at her feet, and lunged forward towards the man. Landing on top of his back, she stabbed him in the left thigh, drawing a similar cry. Looking up at the guard, she saw him move forward quickly and grab her arm, lifting her back up.

"You too?" He hissed, pulling her in the same direction Ken had been taken, past lines of people who had moved to the side to allow them passage to the exit.

Outside the meal hall, it was less crowded, but the camp had been built to carry precisely as many people as it held, so there was truly no place that wasn't crowded to some degree. People strolled about, talking amongst each other, and there were even a few fights breaking out.

Ken was finally released several steps outside the hall, at which he spun around to look at the door he had just left from. A few seconds later, he gave a small smile as Kari emerged, her right arm gripped by another uniformed guard.

"Both of you damn well know the rules!" The guard holding Kari yelled, pushing her forward towards Ken. "No fighting inside the buildings! You got a problem, you take it outside!"

"But rape is A-Okay." Ken remarked offhand, glancing at the guard to his right.

"Shut up!" The guard barked. "Both of you, isolation for three days!"

At this, one guard grabbed Ken's left arm and began pulling him further away from the hall, towards the back left corner of the camp from their perspective. The other guard grabbed Kari's right arm and began pulling her in a similar fashion.

Kari was silent and obiedently marched alongside the guard, but Ken was struggling and shouting like a trailer trash arrestee on C.O.P.S., though he was clearly holding back from actually attempting escape.

"What's the deal, man? I thought this was America, man! What happened to free country, man? I thought this was America! What happened to American, man?" He kept shouting, drawing the eyes of all surrounding people. Kari started smiling, and tried to supress a giggle, putting her hand over her mouth.

Finally, they were led to a small complex that looked like a very large shed, built of wooden planks painted black. Ken was led in first, he and his guard turning left as soon as they walked in. The guard reached forward and pulled on a small wooden door with a golden handle, swinging it open to reveal a tiny room, perhaps ten by six feet with a ceiling eight feet high. Nothing was inside, except for Ken after he was shoved in. The door was slammed behind him, and Ken could hear the click of the lock. The second guard moved to the door to the immediate right of that one, opening up an identical door to reveal an identical room. Kari was pushed in, the door was locked, and moments later both guards had shuffled out of the small complex.

As soon as the guards left, Kari started to laugh, leaning up against the left wall of the room. "I thought this _was_ America." She said dryly.

"Are you alright?" Ken replied, his voice slightly muffled but intelligible through the wooden wall.

"Never better." Kari replied, sitting down on the wood floor. "Not counting the first 21 or so years of my life, if you take the last four days as a whole new life entirely, which is what it feels like, this is probably the best I've been."

"Can't believe you got out. I heard HVT was insane from the pamphlets, so I didn't think any of you guys had a chance."

"I don't know about anyone else." Kari replied, pulling her knees up to her body and hugging her legs. "I was really lucky. I was driving right near the harbor when the alerts were put out and was one of the first on the boats. If I was in my apartment, I don't think I'd have a prayer."

Ken sat down against the right wall of his cell, crossing his legs. "I was at work. Doing overtime. Me and the CEO were the only ones there, and when the alert went off, he let me in the company helicopter so we could get to the boats. I don't know what happened to him though. He got on a boat but I lost track of him."

"Can't believe I haven't seen you over the last four days." Kari said. "I was running around, looking for someone I knew...I didn't want to believe I was on my own. What have you been doing?"

"Cards. Been playing poker for Yen notes. Making a killing too." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the messy clump of bills. "Lemme see..." It was dark in the room, and would likely be pitch black when the sun went down, but he could just make out the distinctive faces and numbers on the bills to tell the difference between them.

"I heard someone say that they weren't worth anything anymore though. That since our country had been destroyed, Yen was worthless." Kari pointed out.

"They aren't." Ken agreed, flipping through the bills. "I have an idea."

"That's one more idea than me. I have no clue what to do." Kari said back. But...uh, lemme see..."

A second later, a rolled up piece of paper was shoved through a small crack between the wooden planks that made up the wall between their cells. Ken grabbed it, and unfurled it to reveal a yen note. A few more made their way over to Ken, which he also grabbed and added to his pile.

"You can keep em. Someone'll probably just take them away from me." She said. "After I gave up on finding anyone I knew, I just tried to keep a low profile. I saw what was happening to the attractive girls around here-"

"Well, then you should have nothing to worry about." Ken interrupted, drawing another giggle from Kari.

"Anyway, the wrong person saw me eventually. And then, you saw me." A pause followed this. "No one's touched me...yet. Thanks to you, it stayed that way. Thank you, Ken. I didn't have a chance."

"Don't mention it." Ken replied. "Sixteen thousand six hundred and forty five."

"Sweet." Kari said. "Maybe you can buy an imaginary small television. Or maybe you can buy me an imaginary dress, I'd really appreciate it."

"You won't be laughing when I'm done turning water in to wine." Ken replied, shoving the bills back into his right pocket and laying back on the wooden floor. "You'll see. You'll all see."

"I believe you." Kari too unfurled herself, laying back and looking up at the ceiling. Neither of them said anything for a few seconds. Then, Kari started talking again. "So...in here for three days."

"Yup." Ken answered, noticing the light was beginning to dim.

"Can't get us in here." Kari added.

"Nope." Ken parried.

"And...then what?" Kari asked. "They let us out. Then what?"

"I'll protect you." Ken said simply. "You stick with me, none of these guys will lay a finger on you. Trust me. You'll be safe."

"Oh. Well, that's comforting. Thanks." Kari replied, again falling silent. Several seconds passed, and Ken thought he might try and fall asleep. Then, he heard a small whimper from Kari's cell, and what was either laughing or crying. All things considered, the latter seemed more likely.

Ken sat back up. "Kari? What's wrong? Kari?"

"Oh...it's n-nothing. It's n-not your problem. Don't w-worry about it." She replied, choking on the words due to her apparent duress.

"Did you hurt yourself? Kari?" Ken called again, putting his ear up to the wall.

"No...no. I-it's just t-that I know how things w-w-work around here!" She blubbered. "You s-speak English, and you know all about American c-culture...y-you're a genius!" She gave a pitiful moan before continuing. "T-they'll take one look at y-you and know they d-don't need to teach you a thing! You'll be out of h-here in a week! I don't speak any e-e-english! I don't know a t-thing about this c-country! I'll be here for m-months!"

"Oh, Kari, please stop crying." Ken said, wishing that they could at least be able to see each other. "No, no, it's not like that!"

"Y-yes it is! I'll be stuck here, a-and someone'll g-get to me eventually!" She sniffled a few times. "I'll never g-get out of here alive!" She dissolved into further tears.

"Kari, no! Listen to me! I'm not leaving here without you! Understand? I won't leave without you! We'll leave together." Ken insisted.

"Oh...K-ken, you're so sweet." She managed. "But d-don't be ridiculous." She sniffled again. "Y-you have a bright future ahead of you." She was beginning to calm down slightly. "I can't let you be stuck in here for months just to protect me."

"I won't be." Ken said, trying and failing to find a gap between two of the planks that would allow him so much as a decent view of the other cell. "We'll both be out of here in a week, at most. Probably less. I promise. You just stick with me and follow my lead, we'll be out of here in a few days."

"B-but I don't speak any English." She said quietly. "And I don't have any viable skills. They won't let me out."

"Yes, they will. Just trust me. Like you said. I'm a genius. Just try and get some sleep. We'll be out of here in no time." Ken said, hoping he had managed to soothe Kari.

"A-alright." She sniffled again. "God, I...I feel like a little girl. Letting you see me cry like that. I'm so sorry. You don't deserve that."

"It's fine. Just try and sleep." Ken repeated. "We've got a long, boring three days ahead."

-------------------------------------------------

"Ken, are you still mad?" Kari asked, the pair of them trying to find some way to pass the time as they waited for their release. "I think I still am. I just don't know what to do about it."

"I was at first. That first few hours after finding out." Ken responded. "But it doesn't really matter. Maybe the guys behind this will get brought to justice. Maybe they won't. But if they are, it won't be me who does it. It won't be any of us. There's nothing I can do to influence whether or not he's caught. So there's nothing to get mad at. And even if he is caught, it won't bring Japan back."

"Yes. That's logical. But human emotion doesn't always follow a logical progression." Kari pointed out.

"True." Ken admitted, crossing his arms over his chest. "I suppose if I thought about it long enough, I would hate him. Whoever he is. I'd be disgusted by him. And I'd want him dead. And I'd want to be the person to do it." Ken coughed. "But that won't happen. So, I'm going to take revenge in the only way I can. I'll live. I'll have a good life. I'll enjoy life."

"I suppose he wouldn't like that very much." Kari commented wryly.

"He wanted us dead. All of us, he wanted every Japanese citizen to die. Us living, our continuing life, it's in defiance of what he wanted. So, we'll have good lives. That's the only thing we can do, Kari. The only thing we can do to defy him."

"I like that." Kari replied. "We live. We live well. It's so simple."

"We can't be angry anymore, Kari." Ken insisted. "If we let anger consume our thoughts, it will be that much harder to live well."

At that moment, a wooden thump sounded off from outside the cells. Ken looked toward the door of his cell, feeling that the timing was appropriate. "Just follow my lead Kari." He whispered.

A moment later, the lock to his cell door clicked, and then swung open. A uniformed guard stood there, motioning for him to come closer.

"Alright. Your time is up." He said wearily. "C'mon."

Ken casually strolled out of the tiny cell, then glanced to his left to see Kari being led out by a similarly uniformed man. He shot her a small smile, then squinted his eyes to filter in the sunlight that was shone in with the main door being swung open.

The guard who had opened the door stepped outside, waiting for Ken and Kari to do the same. They did, slowly letting their eyes adjust to the sunlight.

Ken stopped several feet outside of the holding shed, then allowed his eyes to fully open. The guard stood next to Ken, to his left, watching his actions closely. Kari stopped right behind him, her own guard also keeping a close eye on her as she stood there.

Ken took a deep breath, then glanced around at the camp. It was as crowded as it ever was, sight in any direction was extremely limited owing to the packs of people. He expelled the breath, smiling out at the world around him. Kari followed suit, taking in and expelling a large breath of air.

And then, Ken lashed his left elbow out toward the guard, shoving the pointy crook of his arm into the face of the man, landing the blow square on his nose. The guard, completely unprepared for this, could only stagger back as blood began to freely flow from his nostrils.

The second guard and Kari were so surprised at this development, that neither reacted for a half-second. Kari recalled Ken's instructions, but was quite uneasy about attempting to attack her own guard, who was about eight inches taller than her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the guard start to react by pulling his pistol out from the holster on his right hip.

Placing her faith in Ken, she crooked her arm and lashed her elbow out. But she couldn't get high enough to hit the man in the face, and wasn't sure she could hit hard enough to incapacitate him there anyway, so she aimed her elbow for a region considerably south.

The guard, not expecting anything of the sort, keeled over as well, dropping his gun, hands going to his crotch as he fell to his knees. Kari looked down at the unfortunate man, feeling like she should try to help him or at least apologize. But then, she remembered Ken's final words to her, and looked up to see what he was doing.

He was walking towards her, rather slowly and casually, hands in his pockets as he did so. Kari could see people behind him pausing to look at the scene, and could also make out some more guards pushing their way through the crowd and yelling some vague warnings in their direction. Kari pushed the feeling of bile building up in her stomach and fell into step behind Ken as he marched back into the holding shed.

Although she felt quite ridiculous, and thought she might be in serious trouble, she maintained her faith in Ken and watched him closely. He simply turned to the left once within the shed and strolled into his previous cell, shutting the door behind him. Kari froze there, on the threshold of the door for a moment, then quickly scampered into her own cell, shutting the door with great force behind her.

--------------------------------------------

"I have to say, you're the most interesting person we've got in this camp." Anderson said, seated in his large, cushy black chair behind a oak wooden desk, surprisingly uncluttered except for two pieces of paper and several pens, otherwise supporting only a nameplate bearing "Logan Anderson". Ken had been seated on the opposite side of the desk, on a considerably less extravagant chair, of only simple red cushions on gold metal rods. Behind Anderson was a wall, with pictures of lighthouses adorning it, framed within wooden borders. In either corner of the room, behind Ken, were uniformed guards.

"How do you figure?" Ken asked, a hint of playful-ness in his voice.

"I read your file. And I've confirmed it's validity with various sources. So you are indeed, Ken Ichijouji?"

"Well, yes." Ken nodded. "That's hardly interesting."

"Apparently, you graduated with high honors from a prestigous college in Japan, the University of Tokyo. Computer Science. Bright future. Twenty-one years old." He shook his head. "Shame things had to be this way."

"I couldn't agree more." Ken replied. "But we've all got to deal with it."

"Your English is very good. The thought of calling an interpreter doesn't even cross my mind." Anderson added. "So, three days ago, you get yourself thrown into isolation." He shrugged. "It happens. What's odd is, you seemed to like it in there. Liked it, a lot."

"Oh, no." Ken replied, smiling. "Don't think that. I don't."

"You sure couldn't wait for an excuse to get back in there though." Anderson pointed out. "I think you owe an apology to Victor next time you see him."

"Yes. I'm sorry about that. Just please try to understand. I'm just so...angry, all the time. So frustrated. I can't stand it in here, I want out. I guess I just lashed out at Victor." Ken replied.

"I think everyone in here doesn't like it very much. There's a lot of violence breaking out in this camp, and I think if given the option just about everyone in here would leave. I've just called you in here because I found the way you went about expressing your anger to be unusual and funny. And when combined with your file, I'm just really confused." Anderson countered.

"Well, there's also the minor issue of my personal safety." Ken said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm safe in isolation. Safe as I could hope to be. When I'm out of isolation, I'm a little bit worried about those poor fellows I picked a fight with coming to get their revenge. I'm sure I can take them when awake, but we all have to sleep some time. I'm just trying to stay alive here."

"Fair enough. I think there were better ways to go about it, but I see your point." Anderson conceded, his right hand going to one of his pens on the desk.

"So...as long as I have this personal audience with you, I'll make a request." Ken cleared his throat. "You've seen how good my English is, you've seen how well-adjusted I am, you even have unofficial records of my high education. So...how would you feel about letting me out of here now. Just skip the formalities, which you should realize by now are wasted on me, and let me out." Ken placed his arms back at his sides, gripping the seat under him.

"Well. I concede you may be the best suited person in this entire camp to enter the general public." Anderson shrugged. "But we're not set up yet. We have yet to fully prepare the living quarters for you guys, so we couldn't even if we wanted to. Our timeframe is three days, so how would you feel about just staying in isolation for three days, then being one of the first to be let out? That's not so bad, is it?"

"That's not what I meant." Ken replied. "I mean, let me out. Out on my own. I don't need your housing, your money, or your job offers. Just let me out, let me do my own thing. Leave it up to me. Surely you can see if anyone could pull off such a task."

"Interesting." Anderson picked up the pen, twirling it around in his fingers. "Do you have any American money? Any friends in the country? Any job opportunities? Anything at all?"

"No." Ken shrugged. "It's a challenge I'm willing to accept. Unless you think I'm not in a right state of mind to make such a decision."

"No, Ken, I have no questions about your sanity. This project has specific parameters, and just letting you out there without any help whatsoever is not going to help achieve our goals. We want to develop positive members of society. To help these people make a life for themselves. You have a great chance at accomplishing that, so to make it harder for you doesn't make any sense." Anderson explained, setting the pen back down.

"I appreciate your concern, Mister Anderson. However, the bottom line is, I don't want your help. I feel that I don't need your help. And if you keep me here and force your help on me, then I'm being held as a prisoner, effectively, for no reason." Ken explained, shifting in his chair. "Unless you declare me unfit for insertion into American society, and if you still have any questions about that, I'll take a citizenship test right here, right now."

Anderson sighed from behind the desk. "You're very smart, Ken. You've been planning this talk with me for days, haven't you? You're right, I can't just hold you here if you don't want to stay, unless I'm willing to lie. Alright. You really want out?" He looked down at his right wrist, at a golden watch. "It's five thirty now. If the others see someone being let out already we might get some behavioral backlash. How would you feel about waiting in isolation until nine? After we order everyone to their beds, someone will come to escort you out."

"That sounds good to me, but there's one more thing." Ken said, rocking back and forth in his chair. This would be the hard part. "The girl who's with me. She's an old friend, she wants to come with me."

"Kari? Yes, I looked at her file too." Anderson leaned back. "She doesn't speak any English and admits to knowing next-to-nothing about the country. She I can hold here on the basis of her being unable to survive in America without help."

"She'll be with me at all times. I can protect and help her, I think you know I'm more than capable of that." Ken parried.

"That's not good enough. You could easily get separated, or something could happen to you, and then she'd just be a casualty waiting to happen. Once she's been instructed to our satisfaction, she'll be allowed to leave our program if she wishes, just like you." Anderson insisted.

"That's not good enough for me, either." Ken replied, again crossing his arms over his chest. "Kari's been targetted by some of the more debauched men in this camp, and you know all too well that your guards are not capable of protecting all the women in here. It will be months before she can leave here, in your program or otherwise, by which time she will have been ravaged repeatedly, if not killed. I'm not going to leave her here to suffer that. And I don't think you want to let it happen. Not when there's an alternative."

Anderson looked Ken over slowly, his left hand covering his mouth in contemplation.

"You can't keep her safe. You can't keep any of the women in this camp safe, and I feel bad for all of them. But I won't let it happen to her. You know that I can protect her out there, and it's one less person you have to deal with in this program." Ken added.

"Alright Ken." Anderson stood up. "You're right. I can't protect the women in here. No matter what I do, people will find ways. I know it, and I hate it, but I gotta deal with it. She can leave tonight, with you. But protect her. Protect her well."

"I knew you'd understand." Ken said, standing up himself, smiling. "Anything else?"

"Both of you should understand, that by leaving this camp and our program, you forfeit the free housing, food, and job opportunities you otherwise would have had. You will be out there, in the great city of Miami, on your own. There will be no government aid, at least from this relief effort. Why you're willing to give this up, I'm not sure, but I suppose it's not my business anymore." Anderson said, moving around the desk, towards Ken.

"Don't worry about us." Ken said, extending his hand out to Anderson. "I've got it all under control." He added, as the two shook hands.

------------------------------------------------------

The dead silence of the early-night was broken by the main door of the cell shed swinging open, causing Ken and Kari to both stare at the doors to their own cells. A few moments later, they also swung open, revealing a heavy-set guard before Ken and an average-sized one before Kari. Quickly, both walked out of the cell and were flanked out of the shed.

The march over to the front gates, held together by a large padlock and chain, was a fairly short one. And uneventful, as the grounds of the camp were nearly empty. Everyone was in the massive facility that played host to all the cots, except for a few guards positioned every couple dozen meters along the outer wall.

At the gate, there was another pair of guards and Anderson himself stood there. As the quartet approached, the guard on Anderson's right moved towards the padlock, and began working on quietly unlocking it.

"That's hardly a practical outfit." Anderson couldn't help but commenting when Ken stopped next to him, as he stared at the exposed lower legs of Kari.

"We'll be cool." Ken insisted. "Don't worry about it."

"And I hope your plans, whatever they are, don't involve hiking." He threw in, as he eyed Kari's unfortunate footwear.

"We'll be cool." Ken repeated.

"Uh...good luck out there, Miss Kamiya." Anderson said awkardly, in the direction the Kari. Ken quickly translated into Japanese, at Kari smiled at Anderson.

The gate began to slowly swing open, the chain-link segment of fence rotating in towards the camp. Ken nodded to Anderson, who suddenly stuck his hand into the inside pocket on his jacket.

"Hold on, I almost forgot." He pulled out two laminated white pieces of paper, with tiny writing and a small picture on each. "Green cards. You won't be able to become a citizen officially for awhile."

"Thanks." Ken grabbed the pair, looking them over briefly before handing one over to Kari. "I guess that's about it."

The pair turned towards the now-created gap in the fence and began to walk out. They crossed the threshold between the camp and the city. Not two steps later, Anderson was already calling them back. "Wait!"

Ken slowly turned around, Anderson was walking out after them.

"I can't let you go with nothing." Anderson started. "I mean, it's your life, it's your right, if you don't want our help that's fine. But...well, how much money do you have?"

"None." Ken said flatly. "You know that-"

"No, I mean...how much yen do you have? Do you have any yen notes? You gotta have something."

Ken reached down into his right pocket and pulled out a large clump of yen notes. "Sixteen thousand six hundred and forty five." He said quickly, thrusting the messy wad toward Anderson.

Anderson was frozen for a second, surprised at how quickly Ken had reacted, but then reached out and grabbed the wad. "Uhh...at the last known exchange rate, that would be..."

"One hundred and eighty." Ken answered.

"What? Wha-did you plan this?" Anderson asked, pocketing the wad of notes in his right pants pocket as he pulled his wallet out of the left one.

"Well, I didn't think it'd be this easy." Ken conceded.

Anderson unfolded his black leather wallet and removed five twenties, five tens, four fives, and ten ones. He thrust them in Ken's direction. "Don't spend it all in one place."

"At least they pay you well for running this camp." Ken commented, his eyes had been on the inside of Anderson's wallet.

"Right." He muttered, sticking the wallet back into his pants' pocket. "Now, what are your plans now?"

Ken glanced around behind him, looking out at the darkened streets of Miami. "I guess I'll try and find a really cheap hotel." He said, turning back to Anderson.

"You won't find better than forty bucks a night." Anderson said. "Even with a light food budget, that money will last you three days."

"Then I have three days to find a job." Ken countered simply. "I wasn't expecting anything different."

"It may not be quite that simple." Anderson replied, reaching back into his pocket for his wallet. "And it may not be as well-paying as you're hoping." He fished out a slip of paper, took a glance at it, then replaced his wallet back into his pants' pocket. He reached back inside his jacket and pulled out a pen. "I can help."

"You're sure supplying me with an awful lot of help." Ken said as Anderson scribbled.

"I know a lot of things about this city." He handed the slip of paper over to Ken, who glanced down at a very faded receipt for what looked like chevron gas. On it, Anderson had written "1206 63rd Street".

"There's a small motel at this address. You may not have the greatest time there, but it'll buy you some time. Just ask for the cheapest room they have. I've passed through the place before, and they have something I think you'll appreciate." Anderson explained. "You know how to find streets?"

"Yes, I think so." Ken answered, pocketing the slip of paper. "Thank you, I know you didn't have to do this."

"But you were counting on it all the same, weren't you?" Anderson commented.

-----------------------------------------

"That Anderson guy seems awful nice." Kari said wistfully as the pair walked down the scarcely populated sidewalk. Tall buildings ran parallel to their path on both sides of the wide, smooth, dark gray street.

"I thought so too. I saw him walking around the camp several times in the first three days. I thought it might be worth a try, appealing to his desire to help people. He seems very genuine about it." Ken responded, his eyes scrolling past the buildings they passed. "Alright, we're almost there. Just let me handle this, don't say anything. It might make someone feel uncomfortable."

"Uh-huh." Kari agreed. "Y'know, I'm willing to just sleep outside for now. It'd safe some money, I don't mind-"

"No. In those pants you'll catch a cold for sure, and then we're really in trouble. Hell, I might, and then we may as well just off ourselves." Ken said flatly. "Here we are."

The pair stopped in front of one of the buildings, a light tan colored skinny building with small windows every several meters up the structure. A small red overhang was just above the glass door, bearing the title "Harrison Motel" and the number '1206' right below.

"This is it. Just be cool." Ken said under his breath, then stepped forward and pushed the glass door open.

"Hello." A man behind a small desk in the front lobby greeted them. The front lobby was fairly simple, just a lot of white paint all over the walls with tan tiles on the floor. There was an opening to other rooms to Ken's left and right, the left of which contained a series of tables and what appeared to be a place to eat. The right contained no light, so Ken couldn't make anything out.

"Good evening." Ken began, stepping up to the desk. "I was told to come here, that you could help me with a special situation."

"...well, I'm not sure about that." The man said, looking Ken over and wrinkling his nose. Ken was suddenly conscious of the fact that he hadn't showered in three days.

"I have no job, nor any friends or relations in any position to provide assistance. All I have in life right now is one hundred and eighty dollars, this watch-" he pointed at his right wrist "-which I will only sell if death is the only other option, and a girl who I've sworn to protect." He motioned his head towards Kari slightly, who was standing just behind him. "I need this money to last as long as I can make it. So, I've been told to come here, and ask for your cheapest room."

"Ah. Well, that I can help with." He stood up and moved around the desk. "And it's not something you find at every motel." He motioned for Ken to follow him as he walked towards the wall on the right side of the front lobby. "I'll explain on the way."

Ken then noticed an extra door in the room, on the wall right where the man was headed, blended in quite well with the surrounding wall. The same color and texture, only a golden doorknob distinguished it as being a door. He quickly fell into step behind the greeter as he opened the door and began descending down some old wooden steps.

"A few years ago, a homeless man came into our motel and asked for the cheapest room we had. Clearly, he was hoping for something less than ten dollars a night, but at that time we didn't go below forty." The man explained as the three of them reached the bottom of the steps. "But then we thought, if he has the courage to walk in here and ask for a room, maybe we could give him something." Just to the right of the bottom of the stairs was a simple door, dark brown against a bare wood wall. "As near as we can tell, this room was used to store rolls of film before this building became a motel. We let him have it for a buck a night, and that's honestly all it's worth." He opened the door, then turned around in the small hallway to face a shelf built into the left wall. He grabbed a flashlight and shined it into the room.

Ken thought of the isolation cell at the camp for a second, but that would have been a little extreme. It was bigger by a fair amount. But the idea was the same. There was nothing in the room but blank, boring wooden walls. Then the man shone the light up slightly, and Ken saw that wasn't entirely accurate; a lightbulb socket was hanging from a gold chain from the ceiling, currently empty.

"I guess that guy told some other people, and every now and then someone stops by and asks for it. It provides some protection from the weather I suppose, being indoors. I guess that's worth a dollar.

Ken stepped in and looked around. Not that there was anything to look at. It wasn't cozy or comfortable, but it was certainly protected from the more extreme aspects of bad weather. He glanced up at the ceiling, noting that it would certainly never leak in the event of rain.

"Looks good to me." Ken finally said, stepping back out. "I don't know how long we'll be staying though. Could be awhile honestly."

"Not a problem." The man nodded. "My name's Tom, by the way. Part owner of this motel."

"Good to meet you." Ken reached into his pocket and pulled out the wad of bills. "I'll pay on a day-by-day basis since I don't know how long this will be, if that's alright." He slipped a one dollar bill out and handed it to Tom.

"Well, if you pay for a week in advance, I'll throw in a free lightbulb for that socket." Tom offered.

"I dunno." He turned to Kari, switching over to Japanese. "Think we can stay here for a week? How's that sound?"

"Awesome." Kari said intrepidly, peering into the small room. "Yeah, just awesome."

"She says yes." Ken said, turning back to Tom, pulling out a five and another one. "Appreciate it."

"Alright." Tom replied, taking the money. "You want me to bring that down now?"

"We won't need it until morning." Ken reasoned, peering into the dark, small room. "Don't worry about it."

He ducked into the room, beckoning for Kari to follow. She did so slowly, waving awkwardly at Tom as she passed him.

"The door does have a lock and latch." Tom added. "The room came with them, we saw no reason to have them removed."

"Good deal." Ken replied. "Oh, wait one second." He stepped out of the room and began to play with his watch by the light of the above front lobby. "Alright...here we go." He leapt back into the room.

Ken shut the door, plunging the small room into total darkness. He fumbled around with the doorknob, finding the lock between his fingers and turning it. He then began feeling up the slit between the door and wall, finally locating two pieces of metal for the latch, sliding the two together.

"It's almost as if sleeping on hard wooden floorboards is normal for a person to do." Kari said dryly, stretching herself out on the floor.

"Hey, imagine how it'll feel when you finally get to sleep on a mattress again." Ken replied, laying himself down on the floor.

"And when might that happen?" Kari asked. "Maybe you're referring to the mattress inside a coffin?"

"Oh, stop it." Ken rolled over, trying to figure how much room he had. "I'm getting up tomorrow at six. I won't get you up if I can help it, you can sleep as much as you like."

"Why so early?" Kari looked in the direction of where she thought Ken might be.

"Gotta get out there and find something." Ken yawned. "I'll be back around eight with food. If you're still asleep I'll just leave it inside the door. I'll also put the lightbulb in before I leave, so you can use that. Try to conserve it though." He paused for a few seconds. "I'd prefer it if you leave the room as little as possible."

"I'm sure you would." Kari responded.

"I'm serious, Kari. I won't be here to protect you." Ken insisted. "Can you do that for me?"

"Oh I suppose." Kari conceded. "Good night."

"You too."


	3. Lowered Expectations

Chapter 3: Lowered Expectations

_May 14th, Monday, 2010_

_In Japan, I was a made man already. I had it. I had paid my dues, gone through the education system, and was ready to reap the rewards. Now, my degree no longer exists. The college I earned it at no longer exists. And most of the people who I went to college with, and the people who taught me there, are dead. In American, in this country, my education counts for nothing. I'm just a dirty immigrant now. Maybe if they took the time to get to know me, they'd come to understand what I'm capable of, but no one will take that time. I have a week to acquire a job before my money runs out, and I'm willing to take anything._

The alarm on Ken's wrist went off, a sharp but quiet beep nudging Ken out of his slumber. His eyes snapped open, and quickly moved his left hand to his right wrist to turn off the alarm before Kari could be awoken.

Carefully, he stood up, trying to figure where Kari and the door would be relative to his position. It was pitch black in the room, no amount of his eyes adjusting would allow him to see anything. With his hands out in front of him, he took small steps forward until he felt the wall.

Slowly, he began to run his hands across the wall, finally finding a rod of vertical metal that might have been a hinge. He stepped to the right and continued to feel around until he felt more small pieces of brass that must have been the latch and undid it. Finally, he unlocked the doorknob and stepped out slowly, trying to avoid making any more noise than he needed.

The hallway was just as dark, so Ken just turned to his left and slowly began walking, his feet feeling for the staircase that would trip him lest he not exercise the utmost caution. After a few careful steps, he found it, and began ascending it.

After climbing the stairs, he saw a tiny bit of light coming through the bottom of the door, and he reached out his hands for the knob. Finding it, he turned it softly and cracked the door open just enough for him to slip out into the light.

It was blinding, to say the least. Ken squinted hard for a few seconds before bravely stepping out into the front lobby of the motel.

"You're up early." Tom said, reading a newspaper from behind the front desk. "What's the rush?"

"Job hunt." Ken grunted. "Kari can keep sleeping, I want her to stay in the room."

"I see. Well, you seem to be in a hurry, so I'll just install the lightbulb for you." He reached under the desk and came back up with a small box. "Don't worry, I know how to be quiet."

"I'll probably be back in a few hours with food." Ken muttered. He looked down at his watch, wondering if he should hide it in his pocket.

"Hmm...y'know, something occurred to me last night. We have some empty rooms right now with showers. You wanna take a shower?" Tom asked, holding up a small key attached by a short chain to a large card with the number '43' on it.

Ken looked down at himself for a second, then back up to Tom. "That'd be great...won't do me a lot of good since this clothes smells just as bad." He commented, raising his arm and sniffing his armpit.

"I can stick those in a laundry cycle while you're in there." Tom offered. "You're the most eloquent homeless bum I've ever seen, I wanna help you out."

"Alright...thanks." Ken said, holding out his right hand. Tom threw the key over, Ken catching it.

------------------------------------------------

_My name is Ken Ichijouji. I'm twenty-one years old. Usually this part is where I'd go into further details about my person, but there really aren't any. My hometown has been reduced to dust, as well as almost everyone I ever knew. My education counts for nothing. So whatever I'd have to say wouldn't matter. I am Ken Ichijouji, and I'm twenty-one. That's all that matters now. That's all I am._

_I have nothing, and I am nothing right now, so I find myself grateful for small favors. Nothing is taken for granted. Anderson could have easily been a jerk, but he just so happened to be genuine enough to care about the well-being of the people he was watching over. Tom just so happens to be a good guy too, extending a helping hand when he certainly doesn't need to. If either of those two had done what most people would have done, and been unwilling to help, where would I be now?_

_In a worse place than I am now, which is scary to think about. And now, I need one more unusually nice person. One more, and I might have a chance to survive this with Kari. I'm worried that this one could be harder to find._

"I don't even have a wanted sign posted anywhere, so I'm not sure what you're doing here." The man behind the counter said, pointing towards the big window in front of the shop.

"I'm trying to exhaust every single possibility." Ken explained, tugging at the collar of his shirt. "Please understand."

"Well, I'm sorry, but I can't help you." The man insisted. "I'm not hiring right now. I don't need anyone."

"I'm willing to work off the record, so minimum wage doesn't have to-"

"I don't want the rock the boat, I've got really good employees right now. I'm willing to pay extra for that security." The man explained. "Besides...I couldn't hire you."

Ken grimaced. "Why might that be?"

"You're one of the immigrants from the Japan disaster. If you've been let out of the camps this early, it must mean you're intelligent. I watch the news, I read the paper, I know how things work." The man explained, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Is intelligence a bad thing?" Ken asked.

"You're too smart for the kind of work I can give you!" He explained, pulling a clump of dough out of a basket next to him on the counter. "You probably have a degree or something fancy like that. You'll be out of here and on to something better in a few weeks! It's not worth taking on an employee when it's painfully obvious they're not going to last."

"Okay...yes, I'm an educated man, but my education counts for nothing in this country-"

"Sorry, but I can't help you. This is grunt work, and if you've actually gone through the rigors of college, you won't be satisfied here." The man interrupted. "Sorry."

-------------------------------------------

_It's always the same. I tried to find places that actually had wanted signs, and then I moved to ones that didn't. It's got to be the most ridiculous problem anyone could have. I'm too smart for a job._

_I can't hide it. It's too obvious. Everyone can guess that I'm one of the Japanese immigrants, and can deduce that I'm too educated to do manual labor. It's true, stocking shelves or mopping floors wasn't what I had in mind when I graduated, but I'm certainly capable of doing it. I can't blame these employers though. An actual bum, someone with no education, has nothing but a life of minimum wage to look forward to. Someone like me could possibly move on to something better._

_Unfortunately, I have no chance at something better as of now. When hiring someone for a significant job, you have to weigh the risks. And while there's evidence that I'm smart and sensible, it's not worth the risk to hire someone who has no paperwork to back up his intellect and who just arrived in America. This is what people mean when they say too smart for their own good._

Ken walked into the front lobby of the motel, a large brown paper bag in his right arm, nodding at Tom curtly as he marched over to the small door in the right wall.

It was ten thirty now, and there had been no breaks in Ken's search. It was the same thing every time, and at this point Ken was considering changing his strategy. Everyone had heard about the Japan disaster and the immigration, and it seemed everyone understood that Ken must be a smart person. Too smart. The odds of him finding an employer who lacked the foresight to see this was very low.

As he took the steps down to the room, he considered altering his appearance so he looked less Japanese, intentionally trying to look like as pathetic as possible, or trying to find something he could offer that other people couldn't.

Slowly, he opened the door to the room. He heard shuffling, and then a click that filled the room with dim light. Kari was standing there, under the newly lighted bulb, her clothes and body clean as well.

"Tom's awfully nice." Kari said as Ken stepped in and dropped the bag of food inside the door. "Let me shower and cleaned my clothes."

"How did you guys communicate?" Ken asked, reaching into the bag and pulling out a loaf of bread.

"I'm not completely stupid, y'know." Kari replied, smiling at Ken as he rummaged around. "I understand basic body gestures. I think I'm at least on the level of a caveman."

"Yeah, but wouldn't it be kind of awkward when he tries to take your clothes?" Ken inquired, taking a bite of the bread loaf.

"I suppose, but he's the landlord so I didn't exactly have much say in the matter." Kari shrugged. "If I gotta strip to keep the room...well, I gotta do my part, right?" Kari sat down on the floor. "That's actually something I wanted to ask. Shouldn't I be looking for a job-"

"No." Ken said flatly. "You don't speak a word of English, so that pretty much makes you unqualified for everything. And I don't want you out there without me."

"Y'know, I'm technically older than you." Kari commented. "You don't have to guard me like this."

"You'd be helpless out there." Ken insisted, waving his hand dismissively. "I didn't get you out of that camp just to suffer the same fate out here."

Kari sighed. "My god. I really am a sitting duck out there, aren't I?" She shook her head.

"I promised I'd protect you. I can't protect you when you're out in public by yourself." Ken said, finality in his voice.

"Any luck on the job front?" Kari asked, still not moving towards the bag.

"No. It's really important I find one today. I can't afford to waste any time, I'm not sure how much a job I can get would pay." Ken mused. "I'll keep trying."

-----------------------------------------

Ken glanced down at his golden wristwatch. It was now 1:30. He stood with his back to a china shop, large windows making up the walls of the small facility and showing off many shelves of fine china. He threw one last look back into the shop before walking off.

He was getting desparate now. He wanted to start work today, and it was getting past the point of that being reasonable. He wasn't too worried about running out of places of employment, not in the city of Miami, but every place had the same general answer.

As he continued down the sidewalk, looking inside each building he passed for a moment, his mind went to his golden watch. He really didn't want to, but if the alternative was starving to death...well, then there was really no choice to make. He looked down at his right wrist, at the very valuable piece of jewelry that told the time with extreme precision. His mind went to all the impressive and expensive features it offered.

Then, he looked up and noticed he was walking right by a pawnshop. He came to an immediate halt, causing a tall teenager behind him to nearly knock him over before pushing past and continuing on.

Ken sighed, quickly moving towards the glass walls of the shop to move out of the foot traffic. He peered in at the random assortment of items, thinking that he should at least go in to see about a job. And while he was in there...

He pushed open the glass door, his hand on the metal bar across the middle. A tiny bell rung, and as the door closed behind him a short persian man with a large gold earring came out from a room behind the desk in the back of the store.

"Welcome." The man said.

Ken walked up to the desk, glancing around at the shelves. "Hello, you hiring?"

"Oh, I'm afraid not. I don't really require any help in my shop." The man explained, his face falling slightly. "Could I interest you in anything today?"

Ken grimaced. He slowly pulled the watch off of his wrist, letting it hang from his fingers as he showed it to the shopkeeper. "This is a ChronoSwiss watch. 24-Karat Gold on the wristband and the rim of the watch, the hands are made of sapphire, the time is kept accurate by a chip that is in constant communication with a satellite, which will also automatically change the time if the wearer goes to a different timezone, and has a guarantee of functionality in water up to a depth of 1000 meters."

The persian man looked closely at the watch without touching it, understanding that Ken would rather not have anyone else touch it until a sale was made. "Impressive. I'm not going to ask how you acquired this item, and I'll assume you don't want to tell me."

"A professional jewelry store would probably be unwilling to make that same offer, so I turn to you. What do you think?" Ken asked, slipping the watch back onto his right wrist.

"Generally, I wouldn't take on the risk of such an expensive item. However, I would feel safe about this one. If only you had a nice suit, expensive car, and a cushy swiss bank account, you could stop by Tiffany's or Jared's and get 8 grand for this watch. However, I can't offer any more than one thousand five hundred, I'm just a humble pawn shop owner."

Ken nodded. "I'll keep it in mind." He turned around.

"You're not here to sell it?" The man asked quickly, looking at the wrist that now held the watch.

"I wanted to see how much I could get." Ken explained, turning back to face the man. "This watch was a gift from my father on my graduation day. He paid 10 grand for it. He gave me the receipt. He said that he was so confident in my ability to get a well-paying job right out of college that he sold his television, car, computer, and took out a mortgage on his apartment to pay for it. I thought he was mad. So did my mother. Two weeks later, I bought them a brand new television, car, computer and penthouse. The watch was a risk as bold as any father could take, and his faith was rewarded, so I would not give it up unless the only other option was death."

The man nodded slowly. "It's a...strangely believable story. I assume you hail from the late Japan. I'm very sorry for your losses."

"Indeed." Ken turned back towards the door, then glanced to the shelf on his immediate right. "I'm sorry if I led you along there." He reached inside a large wicker basket that held a myriad of smaller objects and pulled out a small silver rectangular device securely sealed in hard plastic and fully labeled with descriptions of the device.

"Why is this still brand new?" Ken asked. He read the brief description of the device. It was an electronic diary that took audio input and saved it by date.

"Person bought it, realized it's the old model that no one wants anymore, and lost the receipt I believe." The man explained. "The storage system isn't removable, quite out of date these days."

"Two hundred hours..." Ken said quietly. "What's so wrong with that?"

"The new models have memory cards that can be taken in or out." The shopkeeper shrugged. "No market for those. I'll part with it for three dollars."

Ken stood there, holding the device, thinking for a second, then turned back towards the man. "Sure." He walked up, reaching into his left pocket.

"What purpose can it serve to you?" He asked, taking the three dollar bills from Ken.

"Well...I'm in a complicated situation. It's a long story, but...I suppose I really don't have anyone to talk to." Ken reasoned. "And it'd be awful cruel of me to not buy anything now."

"Alright." He nodded. "See you later, maybe."

------------------------------------------

_It's absurd, isn't it? There's a grand and a half on my wrist, sixty bucks in my pocket, and I won't make the deal. And I don't think I will, so long as I can talk myself into a possibility of surviving. I wouldn't ask anyone else to understand why, just understand that I won't. The watch means a lot, and now that my country has been incinerated along with most likely my parents, it's all I have to remember them by. _

_My father gave me the watch because he had confidence I could find a job worth millions. I won't sell the watch because I have confidence I can find a job that allows me to survive. If my father had that level of faith in me, I really should have at least that much faith in myself._

"Could I speak to the manager?" Ken asked, his hands on the countertop that separated customer from server. The scent of deep fried fatty chicken was already enough to make Ken's stomach tighten, and he could barely fathom actually being inside the kitchen, but a lot had happened in the last few days that he couldn't have fathomed before.

"Hey, buyer beware man." The obese samoan server replied, waving Ken away. "We got disclaimers on the trays."

"No, I'm looking for a job." Ken replied quickly.

"Oh." The man said stupidly. "There's a door around back." He jabbed his thumb behind him.

Ken quickly stepped out of the line to his left and turned the corner around the fried chicken booth, one of many similar connected booths in the food court that formed a large semicircle around several dozen tables and chairs.

Sure enough, a few meters down the wall, there was a small blue door with a brass dirty knob. Ken made his way down the white cinder block wall and went in the long gray hallway inside. Every several meters there was a door in the right wall of the hallway, each with a small label at eye-level. Ken knew the first was his target, and several steps later, he was standing before the stained white door with "Stevie's Southern Chicken" scrawled on it.

He gave several sharp knocks on the surface, then waited a few seconds. The silver knob slowly began to twist and the door then swung inward. A large man stood on the other side, grease stains on his white shirt, long brown curly hair sprouting out from under his baseball cap, and stubble on his lower face.

He took one look at Ken, up and down, then began to close the door. Ken stuck his foot in the threshold, then propped his right hand up against the door.

"I'm here for a job." Ken said.

"I gathered." The man replied. "Get out."

"You barely looked at me." Ken protested. "Sir, please-"

"You're not what I'm looking for. Screw off." He said gruffly, making to close the door again.

"I can bench press-" Ken began, aware of the fact that he did look skinny and scrawny by many standards.

"I don't care about that. You're not what I'm looking for. Now don't make me come out there." The man insisted, pointing with his right hand back down the hallway towards the exit door.

"Look, I'm desparate here!" Ken dared to press the issue. It was getting too late in the day for meekly walking away. "What's the problem?"

"It's not something you can fix, so beat it!" He spat, again pointing back down the hallway.

"I'm willing to work for under minimum wage!" Ken offered, pushing his hand against the door as he felt the other man pushing on the other side in an attempt to close it on Ken. "We can work something out!"

"You're full of it. And that's not even legal." He began to push harder. "You think I don't know how to run a business?"

"Not if I work off the record!" Ken pointed out, feeling the door slowly slide shut, as the man's mass was overwhelming him. "If there's no paperwork, minimum wage doesn't apply!"

"Oh? And you'd be willing to work without paperwork?" The man asked, smirking as the pressure went off the door from his side as he seemed willing to humor Ken for a moment.

"Absolutely! Sir, please, I'm desparate and would probably work for two fifty an hour doing anything you want! In fact, I'm so desparate I'm willing to tell you that!" Ken pleaded.

"Yeah...desparate." The large man monotoned. "Desparate, or a plant." He reached into the waistband of his cargo shorts with his left hand and came back out holding a small steel nine millimeter pistol. He pointed the barrel at Ken's forehead, instantly driving thoughts of getting a job out of the mind behind that forehead. "The worst plant I've ever seen, now who the hell was stupid enough to send you?"

Ken stared blankly into the barrel for a few seconds before collecting his thoughts. "No one sent me!" He spat out quickly, throwing his hands up into the air by his head slowly. "I...I'm just really, really desparate, okay? I-I mean, you're right! You're right, really! Who would be stupid enough to send a plant as bad as me?!"

"Maybe that's what you want me to think." He retorted.

"No! Sir, I'm one of the refugees from Japan, I lost everything! I really need work just so I can feed myself, I'm really desparate, and I'd be willing to do just about anything! I swear, that's all it is!" Ken said quickly, knowing how little pressure a pistol trigger took to fire off a round.

"That's bull, man, ain't nobody been let out of the camps yet! I watch the news!" He shouted. "Don't think I won't shoot you if I think you've been sent here by Frankie or something, and right now, that's exactly what I'm thinking!"

"I got let out early! They couldn't hold me! I was able to prove myself capable of living here! I wanted out!" Ken argued, weighing the option of trying to disarm the man and run away.

"Nice story." The man grunted. "But can you back it up?"

"Uh..." Ken slowly started reaching down toward his right pocket. "I have my green card! Let me show you!"

"Green card? What-slowly!" He replied, shaking the gun at Ken.

"Alright, alright!" Ken slowly pulled his hand out of his pocket, clutching a white laminated card. "Look...see, certified government approved green card." He showed it to the man, holding it up towards him. "Immigrant from Japan, and this card was approved yesterday!" He pointed out the specific areas of writing that he wanted to emphasize with his left index finger. "What are the odds of me getting a green card yesterday if I wasn't a refugee?"

The large man peered hard at the card for a few more seconds, then slowly started to lower the gun. "Well...that'd be a hell of a forgery I guess." He shrugged.

"Can I go now?" Ken asked, pointing back down the hallway.

The manager furrowed his brow for a moment. "Were you serious about the two fifty an hour thing?"

"Well...yes-" Ken replied, trying to shuffle towards the exit door.

"Alright, to hell with it." He waved Ken inside. "You're hired."

Ken froze for a second on the spot, not believing this turn of events. Although he was still terrified of someone who could pull out a gun at the slightest provocation, this might have been the one business owner in the city who couldn't plainly see that Ken possessed intelligence beyond a menial job. So, after coming to the only conclusion there was, he slipped around the large manager, through the door as it was closed behind him.

The manager tugged on the front of his shirt. "I'm Paul, we serve deep fried chicken and some other stuff, you can figure out the rest on your own, go mop the kitchen."

Ken looked around at the small, plain room that appeared to make up the manager's office, nothing more than white walls, a messy brown desk, and a stained gray filing cabinet. A dark brown door led presumably out to the kitchen.

Before he could be told a second time, Ken scooted across the bare gray floor over towards the brown door. He really dreaded this, and he never thought he'd ever be doing this, but...well, such was the norm lately.

-------------------------------------------------------

"I mopped floors, deep-fried pieces of chicken that could very well be poisonous to the human body and turned around to make people pay for the pleasure of eating it with a smile on my face, cleaned out the grease traps on the deep frying vats, which held both grease and my own vomit, and got paid fifteen dollars for the whole deal. And I'm thrilled. I guess it's that whole lowered expectations thing. I wonder how I'd take it without Kari. I'm responsible for her now, so I'm willing to do anything to keep the two of us alive. Were it just me, would I be unwilling to degrade myself? Would I be taking it harder? I don't know."

Ken stood up on the toilet, peering over the beige walls that separated the stall from the rest of the public bathroom. Still, nobody else was in there, only him in the otherwise white room with a few silver sinks and blow dryers.

"I'm not going to talk to Kari about this. I need to at least keep a facade of strength around her. She can't know how miserable this makes me, or who knows what she'll do? I need to keep her safe. No drama from me. I'll keep a full record of my suffering on this diary, and this diary only, as an outlet. I need to tell someone, and you're the only one I can talk to."

Ken stepped down from the toilet carefully, planting his feet on the light blue tiled floor. "So I imagine I'll be talking to you a lot from now on. This is Ken, signing out." His right thumb hit the small stop button on the side of the diary recorder.

------------------------------------------------------

Ken knocked firmly on the door, and a moment later heard the locks being clicked open before Kari twisted the knob and opened the door. Light flooded out of the room from the dim bulb hanging from the ceiling. Ken quickly stepped in and closed the door behind him, slipping the locks back into place.

"How'd it go?" Kari asked, holding her hands up just under her chin. "What's going on?"

Ken turned around slowly, smirking, hands held up close to his face. "I got the job!" He said. "I! Got! The Job!" He repeated, jumping up and down excitedly. "This is the best day of my life!" He held out his arms toward Kari, who grinned, gave a squeal, and ran forward to return the hug.

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Kari replied, playing along. "Oh, Ken, I'm so happy for you! What is it?"

Ken pushed away from Kari gently, then took one step further inside the room and kneeled down on the ground. "Fried chicken place, it's not bad." He lied, laying down on the floor. "And how was your day?"

Kari sat down next to him. "I just sat here. Thinking. Y'know." She stretched out on the floor. "Nothing else to do."

"That must be terribly boring." Ken mused. "Nothing to do but think."

"Don't you dare feel bad for me." Kari countered. "God knows what you're doing in some fast food joint to keep us alive. I'll sit here and think for the rest of my life if that's the alternative."

"I wouldn't have it any other way." Ken nodded, rolling over to face the wall. "Turn off the light, I just want to sleep."

"You've earned it." Kari stood back up, grabbed the small gold chain, and pulled on it, plunging the room back into darkness.


End file.
